Page 88 of To Love or to Lose
I have fallen down almost an entire flight of stairs.
“God damn it,” I seethe, my voice rough and scratchy. I turn so I’m not lying on my stomach anymore and begin assessing my injuries. The palms of my hands are skinned completely, covered in blood blisters. My kneecaps are blooded as well. They’re bleeding so bad the blood is streaming down my calves.
“Oh, my God,” I gasp, seeing myself in complete horror. The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. “Oh. My. God.”
I try to stand, but the stinging in my knees makes them buckle. I fall back into my sitting position on the step. I make another attempt to stand, this one hurts worse. “Ow. Ow. Ow.”
I stand eventually, taking one slow step at a time up the last flight until I make it to the seventh floor.
“God damn it, Gen. Why the hell do you have to be so fucking clumsy?” I scold myself as I make it to the last step. I'm usually not clumsy, but I’m kicking myself for being it at this moment.
I push the door open and begin walking through the hall toward our room.
Being in so much pain really doesn’t affect me that much, since the only thing that is going through my head is‘God damn it, I let Jameson beat me.’
Our rivalry has gotten out of hand. I’m starting to look like a punching bag, partly on my account.
So much for getting to my hotel bed sooner. One I'll have to share, anyway. Now I’m battered and beaten, I can barely walk, and I feel like I’m going to be sick.
The first thing I think once I get over my loss to Jameson is,‘How have I only made it this far down the hallway.’
And then,‘Dear lord, please tell me I didn’t hit my head on the way down, because I feel like I’m going to pass out.’
I slump against the wall, feeling like it’s going to collapse beneath me.
“Genevieve?” I hear a voice, I can’t decipher whose it is, but it sounds far away. I slump further down the wall. “Genevieve? What happened?”
I see someone blurry crouching in front of me, moving a piece of hair out of my face. “Genevieve, can you hear me?”
I finally recognize who’s in front of me. “Jameson?”
“Yes, yes. It’s me.” It goes quiet for a second. I reach out and touch his arm, feeling the wool of his jacket against my fingertips. “What happened, Genevieve? What did you do?”
“I hurt myself.”
“I can see that.” He’s not laughing. I feel awful, because I would be if the roles were reversed. “How?”
“I fell going up the stairs, and then fell down them, scraping my hands and knees.” I hold my hands out, showing him the damage. Then, I become frantic . “Did I hit my head? I feel like I hit my head. Jameson, is my head bleeding?”
“You’ve got a pretty bad nick on your forehead, that’s what I’m holding pressure on right now.”
Jameson’s touching me? Why can’t I feel it?
I try to pull away from him. I hate him, remember? I don’t need his help.
“I need to get back to my hotel room. I need sleep.”
He pulls my head toward him, pressing his hand to my forehead again. “Genevieve, you can’t go to sleep, you probably have a concussion.”
“Why do you care? We hate each other.” I pull away again, bracing myself against the wall as I attempt to stand. “I don’t need your help.”
When I sink back down, I don't have the energy to stand again. My knees still sting, and my palms are letting little droplets of blood free.
“I’m not going to leave you here, I’m not that much of an asshole.”
“Can you bring me to the hotel room? I need to sleep this off; I swear, I’m fine.” I make an effort to argue, but Jameson isn’t giving in.
“You need to see a doctor before you sleep.” I shake my head. I don’t need a doctor. More importantly, I don’t need Jamesonto bring me to a doctor. “C’mon brainiac, you know better than this. Tell me, what are the major symptoms of a concussion?”
